


Piña Colada Slushies

by caswell



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Squip, Borderline Personality Disorder, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, cuddles & kisses what more could you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 00:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13962918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caswell/pseuds/caswell
Summary: Jeremy's been having the worst few week of his life... again. Luckily, his best friend is there to cheer him up- but not without stopping at 7-11 first.





	Piña Colada Slushies

**Author's Note:**

> first of all. jeremy has bpd and that is A Fact.  
> SECONDLY i wrote this when i was having a Hell Week (im on the mend atm so no worries im fine) and it was strangely cathartic. Shout out to the boys for being the one wholesome thing in my hell life.  
> Hope y'all enjoy this too 0: It's simple but sweet  
> The self-harm description isn't That gnarly but if youre sensitive to like, reading about scars/cuts (there's no actual cutting in this), i'd skip the part where Jeremy shows his leg to Michael. It's just a couple paragraphs.

Look.

Jeremy knows he has a lot of shortcomings.

He’s sorta petty (who the hell cares that much about being cool?), sorta jealous (there was an ache in his chest when he found out that Michael had his first kiss in the 8th grade with his now drug dealer of all people), sorta depressed (he’s cried himself to sleep a time or ten, he’ll own up to that), and sorta… well, sorta just everything.

The emphasis tonight, though, is on crying himself to sleep.

He’s not really sure what set it off this time, but the past couple weeks, he’s been, to be frank, fucking miserable. It happens at least once a year, this… this depressive episode or whatever, weeks of morosity punctuated with fits of jealousy and hurt that seep into every inch of him, curling around his heart and pricking it with thorns that-

Oh, who’s he kidding? This isn’t anything to wax poetic about. It’s mental illness is what it is. And tonight, it’s kicking him directly in the balls that he barely has. Jeremy sits numbly at the kitchen table, staring at the pasta he’s made and neglected to eat, which is stupid, because the entire reason he made pasta at midnight is that he didn’t eat dinner and he should probably put something in his body before he loses all the weight he doesn’t have. He’s just glad his father’s already gone to bed, because if anyone tried to talk to him right now, he’d probably just… break down crying. 

He’s not good enough for anything or any _ one.  _ Everyone he’s ever set his sights on is with someone else, be it Christine with Jake or that cute girl from human anatomy and physiology and their other lab partner. And what the hell was with that? They were both a solid… six or maybe seven on The Scale™, they were equally as good at the labs (although Jeremy did shy away a little from the cat dissection unit and made the other two do most of the work, but sue him, he likes cats), and they had fairly similar personalities (‘adorkable’ at best). So why not him?

Jeremy doesn’t realize that his phone is buzzing until the third time it does, at which point he glances away from his cold noodles and to the screen. 3 new texts. He flicks his finger on the screen, types his password in, and checks it, not expecting anything decent. Probably just an advertisement from some clothing store he’d stupidly given his phone number despite only shopping there once. He’s surprised, though- not pleasantly or unpleasantly, he can’t exactly feel emotions right now (which is another surprise, since lately they’ve literally been driving him insane)- just surprised.

_ [12:39] Michael: hey dude are you doin alright? _

_ [12:40] Michael: i saw that post on your personal twitter _

_ [12:40] Michael: about feeling abandoned _

Michael’s already typing another text by the time Jeremy checks his phone. He’s one of those people who likes to split his thoughts up between multiple messages, which can get a little overstimulating at times, but Jeremy doesn’t really feel much of anything right now, and that includes anxiety and annoyance. 

_ [12:41] Michael: i don’t want you to ever feel like that, man. for real, i’ve got your back. _

Methodically, Jeremy types back,  _ ‘s okay. doesn’t matter. _

_ [12:43] Michael: of course it does!!! you’re my best friend. _

_ [12:45] Me: no i mean it dont worry _

_ [12:46] Michael: i don’t know how i’m supposed to Not worry. i mean, my best friend on earth is spiralling. _

_ [12:47] Michael: please tell me there’s something i can do to help. _

Jeremy sighs, sets the phone down. Half the time he thinks he doesn’t even  _ want  _ help. He doesn’t want to bother anyone. Maybe he should just sit there and give up, waste away, be out of everyone’s lives. 

He probably should.

_ [12:52] Michael: jeremy? you still there??? _

_ [12:54] Me: yea _

_ [12:55] Michael: dude don’t scare me like that. _

_ [12:57] Michael: will you be safe for like. the next twenty minutes _

Well, Jeremy wasn’t planning on doing anything but stare numbly at his lukewarm penne for the next half hour, so that’d be a yes.

_ [12:58] Me: yeah why _

_ [01:00] Michael: no reason. _

_ [01:01] Me: ????? ok?? _

Michael doesn’t respond after that. Jeremy frowns.  _ What, are you just gonna leave me alone like that?  _ he thinks, a little hurt. It shouldn’t be hurtful- he probably just got distracted- but all of his nerves are raw right now, and pretty much everything feels like a knife in the back. He puts his head on his crossed arms and sighs.

And then the front door opens.

If Jeremy felt alive, he would’ve jumped out of his chair in frightened surprise; instead, he just raises his head a little and glances towards the door. In the doorway stands Michael, shoving his spare key back in his pocket with one hand and holding two slushies to his body with the other arm, careful to not push them too hard and allow the contents to spill out. “Michael?” Jeremy asks with a frown, and the boy in question looks up and smiles.

“Hey, bud,” Michael says. “Brought ya somethin’.” He kicks off his shoes, then pads through the short hall to the kitchen. As he sets Jeremy’s slushie down on the table, he adds, “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

Jeremy’s gaze slowly travels from Michael to the slushie. It was a sweet gesture, but he really, really can’t see the point. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel hungry or anything. He hardly feels like he can open his mouth. All he can do is blink, then look down at the shining tabletop.

“...Jeremy?” Michael asks, leaning in a little. “You gonna, uh, say thank you or anything?”

“Thanks,” Jeremy says simply.

Michael sighs, sympathy in his dark eyes. “C’mon, man, you gotta have something,” he says, and gestures towards the bowl of neglected pasta. “What’ve you eaten today?”

Jeremy thinks on that for a while. “I had a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats this morning,” he answers. “With strawberries.”

Michael nods and sits down in the chair next to Jeremy’s. “Alright, well. That’s not nearly enough; you’re perfectly aware of that.”

Jeremy nods in turn. “Alright.”

“...So… are you gonna drink this?” Michael presses, tapping the plastic slushie cup with one fingernail.

“That hardly counts as eating,” Jeremy says. “That stuff’s only got about a hundred and seventy five calories. No point.” It is tempting, though. They’re a comfort food (drink?), and thank god, since they’re cheap as dirt. Plus, the fact that Michael brought it for him is really, really sweet, especially considering that it’s one in the morning and they should both probably be asleep right now.

“Alright, then drink it because I hauled my ass over here at one in the morning,” Michael says, echoing Jeremy’s thoughts. He’s not serious about the guilting, of course. Michael isn't like that, at least not usually.

_ I'd probably just puke it up,  _ Jeremy thinks, looking with half-lidded eyes at the brightly-colored cup. It hurts his eyes. “Fine,” he mumbles, deciding that his day couldn't get much worse anyway. Reluctantly, he sits up in his chair and grabs the cup, steeling himself before taking a small drink of it. It's good, despite being slightly melted. “...What flavor is this, coconut?” he asks after a few moments.

Michael shakes his head. “Nah, man, it's a new one. Piña Colada.”

Despite himself, Jeremy brightens up at that. “Oh, damn, my two favorite drinks,” he says, the hint of a smile in his voice. “No chance it's got rum, huh?”

Michael snorts and shakes his head again. “No dice, bud. And don't get any ideas. I know how you self-medicate.”

Jeremy's smile falls away. “Yeah, like you use marijuana for 100% neurotypical reasons,” he replies flatly.

“First of all, my guy,” Michael says, and takes a drink of his own slushie. “Marijuana? It's called weed. Or pot, if you prefer.”

“Stoner,” Jeremy says, not sure if he's teasing or being annoyed or both.

Michael shrugs. “Maybe so.” Running a hand through his hair, he sighs and returns to his previous somber demeanor. “On a more serious note… what's been going on lately?”

Jeremy tenses for a second, then breathes out, defeated. “Just, y'know, depression and BPD both kicking my ass.” He licks his lips, glances away, and adds, “This happened last year, too. Remember?”

Michael thinks back on it a second, then nods. “Ah, right, right. I remember that. That was about Christine, right?”

Flinching at the reminder, Jeremy answers, “...Yeah.” Look, he's friends with Christine, and he's not really crushing on her anymore, but when she got with Jake, it felt like the end of the fucking world. It's like… it's like he feels normal teenage emotions, just dialed up to 11- what should be a week of sadness and a one-time occurence of crying yourself to sleep turns into a month-long personal hell with him. 

Michael nods again and sets his hand gently on Jeremy's back, between his shoulder blades. “Is it okay if I do this?” he asks.

Jeremy nods as well and takes another drink from his slushie. He feels a little less empty with Michael around, which is good. Obviously. “I don't know what to do,” he admits.

Michael cocks his head. “How d'you mean?”

“To help myself,” Jeremy says. “I've tried everything.”

Michael frowns a little at that. “...Like what?” he asks, and, given that they're best friends, he probably knows exactly what's coming. 

“I've taken baths,” Jeremy answers. “I've written. I've drawn. I've eaten, and not eaten. And, uh…”

Michael sighs, worries his lip. “Let me see your leg, Jeremy.” It's less of a demand than a request, but Jeremy acquiesces either way.

Jeremy's left calf is, put simply, a mess. He’s been hacking at it for a while now, with the first scars appearing sometime in the eleventh grade, but there are dozens of new cuts, some quick and narrow, some deliberate and deep. Michael looks sick as he sees it, and Jeremy glances away in shame. “Fine, you caught me,” he says, not actually as resentful as he sounds.

Michael reaches out to touch the broken skin, but changes his mind, drawing back again. “Jeremy, you can’t keep doing this,” he says finally.

Jeremy sighs deeply, pulling the leg of his pants down again to conceal the fiery pink disaster of a calf. “I don’t know what else to do,” he says, and means it. How else is he supposed to express his feelings? Talking isn’t helping. Fuck that.

Michael’s hand travels up to Jeremy’s neck and rubs it, like he’s a cat or something, but it feels nice, so… Jeremy’s not complaining. “There are plenty of other things to do,” he says. “You could… put ice on your wrist, or, like, listen to calming music or something.”

Jeremy scowls. “Yeah, but like… that doesn’t work. I still feel like garbage, I just have a cold wrist or a drained laptop battery.”

Michael nods and moves his hands to Jeremy’s hair, running his fingers slowly through the curls. “I guess, but it’s better than hurting yourself,” he says. “It’s not good for you, Jeremy. You’re an addict.”

“I’m not an addict!” Jeremy snaps, though he immediately regrets it. Michael doesn’t seem too hurt, though; he’s used to this. “So I cut once in a while, who cares? Everyone and their mother does. You’ve done it before.”

“Only once or twice,” Michael says, “in, like, the tenth grade. How many days this week have you done this?” 

Withdrawing slightly into himself, shoulders hunched and tense, Jeremy answers, “...Four.”

Michael sighs out, looking at Jeremy with uncharacteristically sorrowful eyes. “See? You are. It’s not healthy and you know it.”

“Maybe so,” Jeremy says, “but that’s not the problem here. I don’t want to feel the way I feel, which is  _ why  _ I cut. I can’t live like this anymore.” 

“Can I just- can I hug you?” Michael asks, and there’s an odd sound of desperation in his voice.

_ What’s your deal? _ Jeremy thinks, giving him an odd look, but obliges, standing up and opening his arms. Michael's hugs are more like being held, given that he has both the height and weight advantage, the second one being almost effortless to have on him. Jeremy doesn't realize for a good ten seconds that he's crying into the crook of Michael's neck, but when he does, he freezes, cursing himself internally. "Shit, sorry."

Michael shakes his head and pulls Jeremy closer, if that was even possible. "No way, dude," he says softly. "There's no need to apologize. Tears don't stain, anyway."

Jeremy manages a weak chuckle. "Yeah, that's true," he says, voice muffled by the thick fabric of Michael's jacket. “I dunno. I dunno.”

“Don’t know what?” Michael asks, rubbing Jeremy’s back gently.

“Anything,” Jeremy answers after a few moments. “What to do now. How to make things better. How to not want to die.”

Michael squeezes Jeremy tight at the thought. “I don't have all the answers,” he says, regret tinging his voice. “But I'll always be here to help you figure it out.”

Jeremy breaks away from the hug- a guy needs to breathe- and grabs his slushie from the table. After taking a long drink from it, he says, “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.” 

Michael nods and puts a hand on Jeremy's shoulder, rubbing gentle circles through his shirt with his thumb. “There's no need to thank me,” he says. “And, uh, it's getting late. You wanna come switch into pajamas?”

Jeremy nods. “Yeah, that might be nice.” Better than sitting around all day in those baggy jeans and a NASA shirt, although damn, does he ever love NASA. He walks past Michael to the stairs leading down to the basement, and gestures with a nod of his head for him to follow.

Jeremy's room is small, most of it taken up by his dresser, desk, and bed. Since it's just a side room in his basement, there's no closet, hence the large, clunky dresser. It's cozy, though, and he can deal with a room that small. Along with the high school and Michael's house, which he hangs out at at least every third day, it's where he spends most of his time.

After setting his slushie on the desk, Michael sits down on the sheets of Jeremy's bed, which are printed with cartoonish designs of outer space, and watches as Jeremy picks out a too-large white t-shirt and black pajama shorts. They'll show his cuts, but he doesn't particularly care. His father knows about them anyway, and, since it's been so long since he started, the most he'll probably get is a concerned look and a couple slightly-less-than-intrusive questions. “You can leave if you want,” he tells Michael without turning around. “While I change, I mean.”

Michael shrugs. “It’s alright,” he says. “Nothing I’ve never seen before. Unless you want me to.”

To his own surprise, Jeremy doesn’t really want to be alone right now. Michael is somewhat like an anchor, and always has been. He doesn’t really mind. “Nah, it’s no big,” he says. He tugs his shirt off and tosses it behind him to the bed, where Michael catches it with one hand and folds it up- it’s one of the few things he’s neat about. Anal, even. The soft fabric of the pajama shirt feels somehow soothing on his skin; something about changing into pajamas is so healing. Unfortunately, his jeans do end up hitting Michael in the face.

“Hey, why,” Michael whines, laughter under his words. 

“My bad,” Jeremy says with a cheeky smile, though Michael can’t see him, seeing as he’s facing the other way. The smile soon falls from his face, though; it’s pretty much impossible to keep feeling alright for more than… probably around fifteen minutes. Yeah, that bad. Jeremy grabs his half-melted slushie from where he’s set it on his dresser and takes a drink, then sits down next to Michael on the bed. “If you want to change, too, I’ve got some of your pajamas around here somewhere.”

“Why do you have my pajamas?” Michael asks, giving Jeremy a mildly confused look. “...Eh, never mind. Nah, I’m good, I’m good.”

“Cool,” Jeremy says quietly. He looks down at his hands, worrying his lip as the numbness sets in again. “I guess I shouldn’t assume that you’re staying, anyway.”

“Nah, man, I’m staying,” Michael assures him, clapping a hand on his back. “I gotta be there for my buddy. And, uh…” He lowers his voice a little, even though there’s nobody to overhear them. “Are you gonna be safe tonight?”

It takes Jeremy a long time to reply. “...I don’t know,” he says, defeated.

Michael nods. “So I gotta stay. I can’t just leave you like this, Jeremy.”

“That’s fair,” Jeremy says. He sighs, a heavy exhale, then leans his tired head on Michael’s shoulder. “Thanks for being here. I… really appreciate it. Y’know.”

“I know,” Michael says, and slings an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders. “It’s my pleasure, alright? I like spending time with you, even when you’re down.”

Jeremy chuckles, though there’s little emotion behind it. “Don’t get all mushy on me,” he says. “You’ll make me cry. Not that that takes much at the moment.”

“Yeah, I know,” Michael says, and moves his hand to play with his hair. “It’s alright. You can cry if you want.”

“Well, I mean, I never  _ want  _ to cry, Mike,” Jeremy says. “I mean… it’s sorta pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic to cry,” Michael says, frowning slightly. “I cry all the time.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, okay, I don’t, but still. It’s alright, man. Toxic masculinity is  _ so  _ 2016,” Michael says. 

“Well, you know damn well I’m unhip,” Jeremy shoots back, though there’s no malice behind his protests. “I don’t know. What’s there to cry about?”

“What  _ is  _ there to cry about?” Michael asks. “You haven’t really been confiding in me lately. Something makes me think you’re bottling things up again. But, uh, what do I know.”

Jeremy sighs and rubs his eyes, trying to find the words to describe what he’s feeling right now and why. “Y’know, I just… I feel like you’re the only one who ever pays any attention to me. Like, I have friends, sorta, but I don’t think they even care about me.” Not that Michael’s attention isn’t great, it’s just… being universally liked and accepted? That’d be the dream. An unrealistic dream, since he probably doesn’t even deserve it, but y’know. Some part of him isn’t content until he gets to that point, where people have heard his name and smile when they hear it.

Yeah… that’ll never happen.

Michael squeezes Jeremy tighter and says, “Y’know? I get it. I really do. You’re the only one who knows me as anything besides ‘antisocial headphones kid’, which is bullshit, because my name is absolutely  _ not  _ that hard to remember.” He shakes his head, clearing away his irrelevant thoughts. “Uh, but anyway, next year’s gonna be different. We’re gonna go to college, we’re gonna meet a shit ton of new people, we’ll join the pride club and some gaming club if they have one…”

Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Oh, yeah, that’s gonna get me  _ so  _ much clout, being a gay dude who plays fucking like… League of Legends or whatever shitty clubs they have there.”

“Hey, now, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Michael says. “You’ve said yourself that Jinx has nice-”

“No, no, nonono, I did  _ not  _ say that,” Jeremy says, and laughs nervously. “But for real. I guess that just might not be enough for me.”

“Why not?” Michael asks. “I mean, there’s more important things in life than being popular.”

“I don’t know. I guess I just want the attention,” Jeremy admits. “Which sounds so petty, right? But it keeps me up at night. Not to be lame, but it eats me from the inside out.”

“Then look beyond college,” Michael says. “You’re gonna be the coolest, smartest game journalist ever. You’re gonna have a  _ following,  _ man. People will watch you play and lose their  _ minds.”  _

“I’m not even that good,” Jeremy protests. “Who’s gonna pay attention to me?”

“Okay, so you’re not the best, but you’re  _ funny,”  _ Michael says. “And I’ve seen your writing for English; you’d make a great journalist. So chin up. You’ll get there someday.”

“Yeah, if I even live that long,” Jeremy says, voice barely audible.

Michael tenses up. “What? Jeremy, what the Hell are you talking about?” he demands. “Don’t- don’t talk like that, man.”

“I told you already, Michael. I can’t keep living like this,” Jeremy says, eyes downcast as he shrugs Michael’s arm from his shoulders. “It’s killing me. It happens every year and it has since I was, what, fifteen?” He click his tongue. “God. Either this goes or I go.”

The look that Michael gives him in that moment is absolutely crushing. “I- uh- fuck that, Jer!” He says, and refuses to let Jeremy go; reluctantly, Jeremy allows himself to be hugged, frowning a little as if he’s a disgruntled housecat. “Dude, seriously, You’re only eighteen. You can’t be thinking like that.”

It’s not that Jeremy completely means it. Oh, yeah, sure, his mind strays there on occasion, but it’s not like he’s got a serious plan or anything. “I mean, I guess it’s just hard to keep going sometimes. Everything is so  _ much,  _ man. Every fucking day I’m in this personal hell I’ve made for myself.”

“...Maybe we should get to bed or something,” Michael says hurriedly, as if Jeremy’s about to whip out a razor as they speak. “Look, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t- don’t hurt yourself.”

“It’s okay! I’m fine. I’m  _ gucci,”  _ Jeremy says. “Don't get all panicky. I'm just being overdramatic. You know me.” He gives Michael  a bitter smile.

“Good,” is all Michael can get out, looking only slightly less anxious about the whole situation of, y'know, his best friend talking about suicide. “I really do think the best thing to do right now would be to go to sleep.”

“I will if I can,” Jeremy says. “Just lemme finish my slushie first, alright?” 

“Oh, shit, my slushie,” Michael says, and gets up to grab it, bolting over to Jeremy's desk where it sits beside his tissues. “Aw, it's all melty.”

“You said you didn't care about your slushies melting,” Jeremy reminds him.”

Michael shrugs. “Yeaaah, I really don't,” he says, and takes off the lid from the cup, pushing the mass of unmelted slush to the edge and eating it that way.

Jeremy screws up his face. “Ew.  Eat like a normal person for once.”

Not looking back, Michael pauses and raises his hand over his shoulder and flips Jeremy off, badly hiding a snicker.

Jeremy just rolls his eyes and sits back down on the bed, crossing his left leg over his right as he bounces them in anxiety.  _ How am I even supposed to go to bed?  _ he thinks to himself. He’s somehow full of energy and exhausted at the same time- no shape to sleep either way. Fuck. Jeremy jolts as he feels a weight from behind and arms wrapped around him; as he realizes it’s only Michael and he needs to get a control on his exaggerated startle response, he relaxes a little and breathes a quiet sigh. “Hey, man.”

This time, it’s Michael who buries his face in the crook of Jeremy’s neck. “Hey.”

The physical contact isn’t strange for them- after… what, thirteen years? Holy shit- the boundaries between them are all but gone. Well. Most of them. Head out of the gutter. Anyway, even though it’s not that surprising, it still feels… weird. Not a bad weird, but still weird. More comforting than it usually is, for whatever reason. (Well, the reason is that Jeremy’s pretty gay, but that’s beside the point.) Jeremy leans back into the touch, his anxiety lessening slightly, although not nearly gone. “Did you bring a sleeping bag?” he asks.

“Your bed is big enough for both of us,” Michael points out.

Oh. “...I mean, yeah,” Jeremy says. “We haven’t done that in years, though.”  _ Not since we hit puberty and that stuff got weird. _

“And?” Michael asks. “It’s not  _ that  _ weird.”

Okay, that’s… fair. And it’s not like Jeremy doesn’t  _ want  _ him to sleep with him, it’s just that it makes him feel more vulnerable. As if he can’t sleep on his own and everyone knows it. But. That’s almost true, isn’t it. “Alright,” he says finally, shrugging as if he doesn’t care either way. “Last chance to accept my gift of your own pajamas.”

Michael shakes his head, denying the offer again. “For real, it’s no big deal. This sweatshirt’s more comfortable than any of that stuff, anyway.”

Jeremy wrinkles his nose in distaste at that. “How can you sleep in the clothes you wore all day? Changing into pajamas is like taking off armor.”

“Alright, dude, whatever you say,” Michael says, and chuckles. “C’mon. I don’t want you up much longer.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jeremy grumbles, but doesn’t protest any further; when Michael moves away to give him some space, he gets under the covers obediently, relieved to be back in his own bed instead of sitting there in an uncomfortable kitchen chair.

Michael doesn’t reply to that. Instead, he gets into bed beside Jeremy, and then- to little surprise, but Jeremy’s heart skips anyway- he wraps his arms around him, and, Jesus, Michael is actually straight-up  _ spooning  _ him now. “Sorry, is this- is that too much?” he asks, concern in his voice, and surely his face as well, although Jeremy obviously can’t see it.

Jeremy shakes his head. “No, no, it’s alright.” Fuck, it’s been a long time since he’s been held. He’s never had a girlfriend or a boyfriend or anything, and he’s- his mom has been-

Well, his mom has been gone since the eighth grade.

Why’s this bothering him so much? It’s not like he’s touch starved. He just, y’know, needs hugs way too much and gets lonely and sad at night and, wow, the way Michael is laying his leg over his own shouldn’t make him want to cry, but-

“Jeremy?” Michael asks, worried. “Are you alright?”

Jeremy’s breaths are choppy and shuddering, and he doesn’t know  _ why,  _ and it’s sorta pathetic. “Uh, yeah,” he chokes out. “I’m doin’ fine.”

“You’re crying,” Michael says, and sits up, untangling his leg from Jeremy’s. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I don’t  _ know,”  _ Jeremy says, and sighs as he feels a tear slip from his eye and down across the bridge of his nose. “I just- I just- y’know. Nobody touches me like this… ever. And of course, you’re the kind of person to not even care about that stuff-”

“What? I totally care,” Michael says. “Just because I get hugs from my moms doesn’t mean I don’t crave it. Why do you think I give you hugs so much?”

“...Because I’m your best friend and you love me?” Jeremy asks, turning around so he can look up at Michael.

“Well, okay, that’s part of it, because you are and I do, but it’s not like I get nothing out of it,” Michael answers. “Everybody needs to be held once in a while, alright? Just let it happen. Cry all you want.”  
“It’s just _stupid,”_ Jeremy says. “It is. I mean, who cries just because their friend starts spooning them? That’s dumb as shit!”

“Don’t be embarrassed, Jer,” Michael says, and reaches over to brush a curl of dark hair from where it’s stuck to his wet skin. “It’s just me, alright? I promise I won’t make fun of you. Not for that, anyway.”

Jeremy turns away again and curls up tighter into a ball, trying to blink away hot tears and only making matters worse. “Yeah, I guess.” He swallows sharply, then adds, “Can I just- can we not talk about this?” That’s not a permanent solution, of course, but right now he doesn’t have it in him. He just wants to sleep in bed with his best friend and try to forget that life is absolute garbage. 

“Of course,” Michael says. “You’re gonna have to talk about it sometime, but let’s just… go to sleep now.”

Another night of crying himself to sleep, but at least Michael’s there for him. As Jeremy continues to shake and shudder, Michael wraps his arms around him again, pressing his forehead between Jeremy’s shoulder and his neck. Jeremy’s breathing almost quiets, but when he feels a kiss on his neck, he gasps. “Michael?” he asks, voice hesitant.

Michael’s breathing stops for a second, but continues a moment later, though it’s far shallower. “Sorry, I’m sorry, that was stupid, I-”

“Don’t- nonono- don’t be,” Jeremy says quickly, and wriggles around so he’s facing Michael. There’s an ache in him, deep and hollow, and he realizes he needs more than a slushie, more than a hug, and he can’t tell if the ache is good or bad, but he knows what will quell it. “Michael. Do it again,” he breathes.

Michael stares for a moment, lips parted, but eventually a look of determination crosses his face, and he leans in to catch Jeremy’s lips with his, and, wow, Jeremy cannot  _ believe  _ this is happening, considering the fact that an hour ago he was staring at a bowl of freezing pasta and contemplating mutilating himself, and he places his hand on Michael’s cheek, then moves it to his thick, dark hair, and-

Michael breaks away.

“I don’t- I don’t mean to take advantage of you,” he says. “I am…  _ really  _ messing up this friendship.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jeremy repeats. “It’s okay. I promise on my life. I needed this. I needed this with  _ you.”  _ It’s not like he’s been crushing on Michael since junior year or anything. Nothing like that. (It’s exactly like that.) Sure, it’s garbage timing, but it’s… what he needs right now, really. He needs someone to whisk him away, and even if he can’t feel the entirety of the happiness that he would if he weren’t debilitatingly depressed, at least it brings some sort of comfort.

Michael runs a thumb over Jeremy’s cheekbone, brushing away some of the warm tears that still sparkled on it. “Only if you’re sure,” he says. “I really like you, Jeremy. I guess I just couldn’t keep hiding it away any longer.” He chuckles sheepishly. “Forgive me for that?”

“I needed this,” Jeremy says. “I really did. Don’t apologize.” He knows love isn’t all he needs, and that he’ll probably keep feeling shitty for at least another week, but still. It’s better than nothing. And, not to be sappy, but Michael’s lips are their own kind of therapy.

Michael’s nervous smile melts into a gentle one, and he edges forward to kiss Jeremy again, quicker and softer this time. “We should get to sleep, though,” he says. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

Jeremy nods. “Yeah, bud,” he says, “let’s go to bed.”

Laying there with the boy he loves, arms wrapped around each other, Jeremy sleeps better than he has in years.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love you!


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